


As in Champagne

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rae meets a cat who wanders into her record shop . . . and then meets its owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of two, and was inspired by that picture of a cat in a record store that ducky17 posted, like, three months ago. I started this right after she posted it, and then a few weeks later she posted her first chapter, and I put this aside, but then feels came back and I figured the stories are different enough. (And my motto is ‘Everyone write it!’ so I should heed my own words, I guess.)
> 
> Anyway, like I said, this is the result of on and off writing for a couple of months … And I do plan to post a second part, which I’ve only JUST started. So, not sure when it’ll show up. But I think this part is about as done as it’s going to get, and I hope getting it out there will free up headspace for part two and other fics I’ve been working on.
> 
> Also, I figured with all the angst over episode 1, maybe it would be nice to have a clean slate/tabula rasa type fic, where they’re only just meeting each other. *shrugs* I don’t know, I just hope you like it!

Rae has just finished re-alphabetizing the punk section when she feels something warm curl around her ankle. She tenses momentarily before realizing who it is.

“Back again, Sandi?”

The cat purrs, rubs its head once more against her ankle/ and then leaps up onto the bins, surprisingly nimble for an animal of its size. Laying back across a row of CDs and pulling its paws up to under its chin, the cat knows exactly what it’s doing.

Rae reaches out to scratch it behind the ears briefly, a rueful smile on her lips. “I know what you’re after …” She makes her way over to the break room, and opens the door that reads: “Employees Only! KEEP OUT” glancing behind her. “Well? Are ya comin’ or not?”

The cat jumps to the floor and pads through the doorway like it was one of the crew at ShipWreckords. It’s been coming to the store almost every day for the past three weeks, having walked in with one of the customers the first time, surprising Rae when it sprang onto the counter and rubbed its whiskers on the corner of the till.

She had been a little annoyed at first, but the cat was so friendly and affectionate, purring and trilling and butting its little furry head against the back of her hand to be petted, she couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love.

It was still there when Archie brought back lunch from the cafe around the corner and stares at her longingly as she eats her tuna baguette. She shrugs and pulls a morsel of the filling out and feeds it to the cat, who devours it like it’s been a week since it had a meal.

At some point, the cat slips out again when the door is ajar, and Rae feels a little sad about it, but figures it was just a nice little interlude, a story to tell down the pub next time she felt like joining her mates for a drink.

When the cat shows up the next day, scratching gently at the bottom of the glass door, Rae lets it in and leaves Archie in charge while she nips out to the shop for a bag of cat food and a couple of dishes.

And then, it quickly becomes routine. Rae assumes Sandi had somewhere to sleep, since it has a collar, but she keeps feeding it, just in case she’s wrong. And, it has to be said, she feels a certain kinship, being bigger herself.

A few weeks on, and Rae watches the cat chow down with a dreamy smile on her face, chin propped up on her fist, wondering idly if today was the day Sandi would stay until closing and become the shop’s cat.

Just then, the bell from the door alerts her to a customer, and she stands up to attend. “I’ll be back in a sec,” she says to Sandi, who is licking a paw in freshly sated contentment.

“Hi, welcome to ShipWreckords. Anything I can help you find?” The standard greeting spills forth without thought or effort; she hasn’t even looked up yet.

When she does, a fit bloke in a leather jacket stands there, helmet stuck under his arm. “Wish I had time to browse, but you haven’t seen a cat, have you? Mine keeps going missing and I’ve been asking around everywhere.”

Rae feels a twinge of something in her belly. She knows the cat must be his, but she’s really been hoping the cat was a stray. “Ummm, could you describe it?” It takes everything in her to stop herself looking over her shoulder in the direction of the break room. She flips her long hair over one shoulder and clears her throat instead.

“He’s a tan cat with light stripes, sort of medium long hair, those kind that get everywhere …I dunno, just … cute?” He falters and then takes a closer look at Rae, eyes drift down and across and then seem to hone in with laser focus to something on the cuff of her long sleeve black tee. He strides over to her and gently lifts her arm up to inspect it. Her breath hitches as he smirks, narrowing his eyes. “Like I said, those hairs get everywhere.” He lowers her forearm back down to her side. “Where is the bugger?” he says, a laugh bubbling at the back of his voice.

Rae sighs and hoiks her thumb over her shoulder at the break room. “’S’been coming in almost every day for about three weeks.” Her voice is flat with defeat.

He waves his hand to indicate she should lead the way, and when they open the door, they find him nosing the bag of food Rae had bought, trying to find a way in. “Hey, get out of there!” He leans down and scoops the cat up with one arm in a swift motion. Sandi squirms a bit, but relaxes when his owner deposits his helmet on the arm of the threadbare armchair and strokes the cat with his now free hand. 

“You got a cat, too?” he asks, nodding at the bag of food.

“Oh, ummm, no. No, I bought it for Sandi.”

“Sandi?” The bloke looks confused until Rae points at the ball of fur he’s currently holding.

“I thought he looked a bit like Sandi Toksvig … well, I didn’t know he was a he until just now, so … it seemed appropriate. And he’s sort of a sandy color … and I’ll stop talking now.”

He smiles crookedly at her awkward banging on.

“Wh-what’s his actual name?” she ventures.

“Supernova. Nova for short.”

Rae raises an eyebrow. “As in … ?”

“As in Champagne, yeah.” He laughs and ruffles Nova’s fur in a roughly playful way. Then he sets him down and extends a hand. “And since you’re getting names, mine’s Finn.” Rae reaches across to quickly shake hands, “Oh, I’m—”

“—Rae,” Finn supplies.

She can feel her face assume a quizzical expression and he uses his left hand to point to her name tag, since their right hands are still linked in greeting.

Rae drops his hand like a hot stone and kicks her instep. “Oh, yeah, right.”

“Well, since I found this little bastard quicker’n I figured on, I guess I have time to look ‘round a bit. Mind if Nova chills back here while I browse?” He playfully bats the overgrown kitten on the side of the face, and Nova gently paws the back of his hand.

Rae shrugs a yes. “Yeah! I mean, I thought he might be around permanently at some point, so half an hour shouldn’t be too bad …”

Finn looks up at her with a sheepish smirk as he lightly deposits Nova on the cracked pleather sofa in the employee lounge. “Sorry ‘bout that, I guess. He’s a good cat, but if someone feeds him, he’s hooked. Last place I lived, he kept going over to the neighbor’s window and getting scraps, until I found out and told ‘em he got plenty of food at home. Been meaning t’get him a tag for his collar; this tears it.”

Rae smiles at Nova, who is nonchalantly licking a paw. Her gaze drifts up to Finn, who is looking at her strangely. “You really like him, don’t you?” he asks.

“Hmmm? Uh, yeah, of course! He immediately wormed his way into my affections, waddling up and demanding to be petted like he did.” She perches next to the cat on the sofa and Nova immediately twists himself over to put his furry head on her near thigh, purring loudly when she strokes behind his ear.

Finn stares, dumbfounded. “He—he never does that with anyone else. He’ll beg for food from anyone all night long, but I’ve never …”

Rae’s eyes widen at hearing this. “Really? Huh.” She thinks back and realizes Nova never approaches Archie or Colin, but she figures that’s just because they don’t really like cats. Actually, she never really thought about whether or not she liked cats until this fuzzball tipped the scales.

“That’s … yeah …” Finn trails off, then shaking his head to bring himself back to reality. “Anyway, that’s cool, I guess! S.N. has a friend!” Rae smirks, scratching the cat under his chin. “I’ll, just, look around a bit.” Finn taps the top of his helmet as he goes, his head inclines into a sharp nod like he is ticking off a checklist in his head.

Rae watches his figure retreat, and when the door closed behind him, she looks down at Nova to find him staring back up at her with his wide hazel eyes. “Hey, your eyes are almost the same color as mine!” she whispers to him. Her left elbow is slung around the cat’s neck and she is petting the fluffy coat on his upper chest. Nova playfully wraps his paws around her forearm. She grins down at him as the door to the break room opened once again.

She glances up, feeling almost guilty, expecting to see Finn, but it’s Archie. “Sandi’s back, eh?” he chuckles. “And who, may I ask, is the fit-as bloke currently meandering through the punk section?”

“That’s this little fella’s owner, actually.” She stands up, gently extricating her limb from Nova’s paws. “I’d better make sure he doesn’t trash all my hard work; I spent an hour straightening things up out there this morning!”

Back in the front of the shop, Rae pauses when she sees Finn gingerly flicking through the section she just sorted out. She’s about to chide him, tell him not to mess anything up, but she can tell he’s being careful not to.

He must sense that she’s there, because he says, “I’ve never in my life seen a better tended record shop. It’s actually a bit freaky.”

Rae purses her lips and catches the inside corner of her lip between two incisors, glancing quickly at her feet before looking up to see Finn smiling.

* * * * *

Finn’s been coming into the shop regularly ever since he found his straying cat there. He is at home in a record shop, but this one in particular has something special.

Rae subtly hints that she wouldn’t mind him bringing Nova with him in future; she really likes the little bastard. And the little bastard really likes her. When they come in the door, Rae gravitates to the cat, which fills Finn with a mix of emotions. He thinks he might be jealous, but can’t discern who he’s more jealous of.

He recently started working at a bike shop around the corner. They sell and repair custom motorbikes, in addition to stocking all sorts of gear. He still rides his old scooter around town, and splurged on fixing up a Vincent Grey Flash from the ‘40s. Of course, he loves the work, but the fact that he gets to spend all day every day listening to mint tunes definitely helped tip the scale in favor of his chosen career.

On this particular lunch hour, about two weeks after he first walked in to ShipWreckords, Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation is blaring as he opens the door, and he lifts his hand high to give the tune a thumb’s up. Rae’s sitting up at the till, which is on a raised platform off to the side, so when she raises her thumb in answer, she looks like a Roman empress deciding the fate of someone in the Colosseum.

They exchange a grin, but no words, as he walks along the aisles, looking for something to answer the hard edge song that is about to end. He finds what he’s looking for under “P” in ALT ROCK and walks it over to the register. He squares the rectangular case to the straight edge of the counter and uses his forefinger to slide it across to Rae, then lifts the same finger, holding it up to indicate the first track, and then walks away to browse, hoping she plays it next.

When her choice ends, there’s a pause in the proceedings, a silent second that spreads and stretches across the shop, and then he hears it, track one off Doolittle. It’s mostly nonsense, but Bad Reputation and Debaser seem to have the same desire to flout the common morality, and it’s … ambiguous. He likes ambiguity. It’s safe to be intriguing, to be intrigued. Easier than taking a step in a specific direction, or forming a solid opinion. Or having an opinion formed about him.

The two of them play this game frequently over the next few weeks. Not many words are exchanged between them, though he sees Rae chatting easily with Archie and other customers, they seem to communicate through lyrics and chord progressions, the occasional glance or grin. Finn sometimes brings Nova, sometimes doesn’t, and it’s … nice.

About two months after their first meeting, Finn’s mobile buzzes in his pocket as he’s flipping through the bargain vinyl. He grimaces in remorse before bringing the phone to his ear.

“No, yeah, you’re right. It’s been too long. No, I’ll—no, I will! I just gotta find someone to watch Nova.” He pauses to let his dad bend his ear, eyes unconsciously darting to the counter, where Rae is reading a back issue of NME while absent-mindedly scratching Nova behind the ear. “No, it’s not an excuse, lemme check with, ah … someone … I’ll get back to ya in a bit.” A sigh. “I will, I promise.”

He picks up a copy of the latest offering from The Mountain Goats, The Sunset Tree, and carries it up to the counter.

Rae sets aside her magazine and her eyes light up at his selection. “Nice choice; you’ll love it. Well, I think you will. I did.” She punches in the price and then hits another button which takes 10 percent off. “Friend of the store discount,” she winks at Finn’s confusion.

He clears his throat as he hands her a twenty pound note. “Well, thanks, but after I ask … uh, you might wish you’d charged extra.”

Now Rae looks confused as she slides the CD and receipt into the bag.

“Ummm … Me old man’s been at me for a visit home for a while now, but I’ve been getting settled in and kept putting him off. Plus, I need someone to check in on Nova, and when you’re new in town …” He puffs out a breath, stalling. “Do you think you could watch the little bastard for a few days? I’d pay you, of course.”

Rae laughs, stroking Nova’s fur. “I don’t mind at all, and you don’t need to pay me. It’s the perfect opportunity to snaffle him, which I’ve been wanting to do for ages.” She leans over Nova and says, “Say goodbye to Mr. Finn; you’re mine, now.”

Finn sighs in relief.

“Should I … do you want to bring him over to mine or … ? I’ve never cat-sat before.”

“Well, he doesn’t usually like new places, so if you could just drop by once or twice a day, just to make sure he hasn’t knocked his water dish over or run out of food. I don’t know if you’ve ever dealt with a litter tray, but if you don’t want to mess with it, a few days won’t kill him.”

“I think I can handle it,” Rae smiles.

“Well, this is a relief. I’ll drop by with my spare key before I head out of town. I’ll probably leave Friday, so if you could come over once before then, just so I can show you where everything is?”

Rae drops her face into the fur of Nova’s neck and nods. Her eyes crinkle a little, and Finn guesses that she’s just happy to have time alone with Nova.

* * * * *

As Rae lightly ascends the few steps up to the door of Finn’s building, which is just around the corner from the shop, she reminds herself to breathe. She doesn’t need to put her hands on anything flat, but there is a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She looks at the names listed and finds NELSON in raised white capitals on black label tape crookedly affixed next to 2-B. She presses the button and breathes again.

There are narrow windows on either side of the door, and Rae sees a figure in one, pausing to smooth a wrinkle out of the front of his shirt. When Finn opens the door a second later, she clears her throat and lets the smirk disappear from her face.

“Rae, great! Come on up.” Finn holds the door and gestures for her to go through to the hall. She looks down at her feet as she passes by him and waits near the bottom of the stairs for him to lead the way.

Inside his second story flat, she takes in his abode. It’s sparse, yet cluttered. The walls are nearly bare, yet she can see bits of his personality peeking through in the band postcards and polaroids he’s cello-taped near the door. Well, what she’s been able to piece together of his personality from their limited interactions, she supposes. She suddenly realizes how little she actually knows about him, and how much she’s filled in with her own imagination. In her mind, they’ve had deep conversations about the meaning of life, she’s planned outings (not willing even in her imagination to presume and call them dates) for the two of them: picnics in the park and trips to music festivals. But if someone typed out a transcript of their actual conversations, she doubts they’d fill more than a few pages.

She’s always done this. Her whole life has been a series of low-key flirtations with men, never allowing herself to expect anything, never venturing anything further than a drink out with friends or a meeting at the cinema to see a movie, each paying for their own and drifting apart afterwards. She’s never had a proper boyfriend which, at 26, is embarrassing to admit. She’s not a virgin, but she might as well be; she hasn’t had an elicit encounter since the last year of university. One of her lecturers, after her grade had been handed in to the college, but before graduation. She couldn’t look him in the eye when she went up to get her diploma.

Anyway. Heigh ho. Finn is saying something, might be important, so she tries to focus on his words.

“… milk because they can’t actually digest it. Something I—well, we—learnt the hard way, unfortunately. Eh, Nova?” He roughly pets Nova’s head, while the cat purrs happily, and Rae’s heart does a little flip.

“So, no milk. Got it. And before that, sorry, you said … ?”

“Just that if you want to give him a couple of treats—only a couple, mind—they’re in this tin, here.” He taps the top of a blue canister with a tropical fish motif.

“Check,” she salutes, which makes him smile.

“Oh, sorry, I’m a terrible host. You’re doing me this huge favor and I can’t even remember to offer you a drink.” He lightly hits his forehead to demonstrate his boneheadedness, and opens the refrigerator to show her what’s available. “I’ve got lager, water, orange juice … though I can’t vouch for when I bought that. Might have moved it with me from Stamford, actually. And I think there’s a bottle of wine in one of these cupboards. I could crack that open, if you fancy it.”

* * * * *

He looks up from the fridge to see Rae staring at him, confused. “Stamford?” she asks.

“Yeah, me dad’s lived there … oh, since I was ten maybe? I split time between him and me mum, until she moved overseas and we decided it’d be better for me to stay in England with the rest of my family and mates. Why?”

“No … it’s just … I’m from Stamford. And it’s such a small place … but then, I was away for a bit myself, growing up, so …” she trails off, biting the inside of her lip.

“Really?” He imagines he’s now feeling what she was a second ago. Why hadn’t we ever met? “Wow, small world, eh?”

“Only seems to get smaller,” she quips, leaning back against the counter in the small corner kitchen as Nova winds himself around her ankle. She chuckles and leans down to pet him.

Finn watches her for a long moment, her hair falling in front of her face. He’s got to admit; he’s taken with her. And she seems … Before he can complete that thought, she looks up, pushing the hair out of her face. “Quit staring at me; freaks me out.”

He laughs, quick to cover his embarrassment. “Sorry, just … thinking.” He leans against the door frame for a second. “Oh, I should get you the keys, yeah?” He opens the drawer next to where she’s standing and pulls out a ring with two keys on it. “The brass one is for the outer door, the silver one is for the flat.” He hands it to her and their fingers brush against one another. He realizes he hasn’t touched her since they shook hands the day they met, and that seems wrong, a real shame.

She looks up at him, eyes meeting his for a second, and then she glances away, jingling the keys in her hand, “Got it. Brass outside, silver in.” She surveys his flat with a non-critical eye, and asks, “Anything else you need doing while I’m checking in? Plants to water? Mail to collect?”

“I thought you said you’d never done this before. You sound like a professional.” He smiles. “Nah. I skipped the houseplant stage. I have a black thumb. Can barely keep meself and this fella ticking over. And I’ll only be gone a couple days; don’t usually get a ton of mail.”

She nods absentmindedly, still not looking at him.

“I’m just really grateful you’re helping out with Nova. I—I don’t know a lot of people here yet, and … well, he really seems to get on with you.”

Hearing this, Rae turns to look at him, her face scrunching adorably, like that’s one of the nicest thing she’s heard in a long time.

“And I’m going to find a way to pay you back … when you least expect it … expect it.” He grins, tipping his head down.

“Like the Spanish Inquisition?” she giggles.

“Exactly like that,” he looks up and laughs.

* * * * *

Two days later, Rae lets herself into Finn’s flat for the first time. He headed out for Stamford a few hours ago, according to his text. Yes, they’ve exchanged numbers, just in case she needs to ask him something about Nova. Or so she rationalizes to herself.

It really is an unassuming little place. Nova hops up from his spot in the patch of sun by the window and slinks over to greet her.

“Hey, Nova.” She scratches him behind the ear and checks his food dish. Plenty left, of course. She lifts the water dish under the kitchen tap and runs it for a few seconds, topping it up.

Then, she looks around. He’s got a few books on a shelf near the telly. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Well, she should have guessed. Couple of Steinbecks: Of Mice and Men and Travels with Charley … An anthology of WWI Poetry? Dylan Thomas. A few other collections of poetry. The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man. Both Fever Pitch and High Fidelity, the twin suns in recent British lad literature. Rae has read High Fidelity and found it amusing, if a little … was tunnel-visioned a word? Still, he actually has some books, and it looks like he’s read them.

Now, to his record collection. She holds herself back from rubbing her hands together. His stereo set up has it’s own wall in the main living area, milk crates precisely lined up underneath the turntable, speakers, and the rest. A few CD towers, and a zippered case for cassettes. She feels sneaky, snooping through his music, but how is she supposed to help herself?

It’s a well-rounded collection, maybe a touch heavy on the reggae. He actually has some stuff she wishes she could sneak out and stick in the store stock, but that just puts a smile on her face. A few titles that she would have considered major transgressions when she was in college now earn a mere rueful shake of her head. Now that she runs a record shop, she understands that music is music is music. Sure, some of it made HER ears bleed, but to other people it was something that stitched their soul together, and it shouldn’t be dismissed by anyone.

She holds back from looking at every single album, leaving some mystery about the man. However, talking of mysteries … she pivots toward the door in the corner. A glance toward Nova confirms he’s just licking one of his paws, not paying the least attention to her. And even if he was … he’s a cat. She sweeps her eyes around the main room, looking for … what? Security cameras? In a cheap one-bedroom flat?

In front of his bedroom door, she turns the knob slowly, hoping the catch will release and the door swing open of its own volition, but she eventually has to push it open.

She’s not sure what she was expecting to find, but it’s just a bloke’s room. Navy duvet, mismatched pillow cases, IKEA side table topped with a lamp with a crinkled paper shade, a chipped dresser with a few band stickers on the side, a stand with an electric guitar, band posters on the walls, a framed photo of Finn with an old woman. He looks younger … Rae snorts at his fringe, but her eyes soften at his smile. Must be his grandmother.

Maybe this was a mistake. He’s, like, too perfect. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about how she appears to him. But she’s just … what? Some girl who manages a record shop. Some girl his cat seems to like. She sighs, closing his bedroom door and walking over to pick Nova up. “Want to come back to the shop with me? Eh? Come on, then.”

* * * * *

Finn’s phone buzzes and picks it up, flips it open and smiles at the pixelated photo of Nova on the bins at ShipWreckords. The next text reads: He’s very comfortable at the store … don’t stay away too long or he might just decide to move in with me. Finn types with a smirk: You wouldn’t dare. I’ll report you to Trading Standards for that!

“Oi, mate!” Chop waves his hand in front of Finn’s phone. “Earth to Finn! D’ya want another drink or not?”

Finn slides his phone into his pocket and clears his throat. “Sorry, Chopper. Yeah, I’ll have another pint, cheers.” He picks up a beer mat with the pub logo on it, a exaggeratedly S-shaped swan swimming through a lake of amber lager. He wonders if she ever came here when she lived in Stamford. Izzy is talking to Lois and Chop is at the bar. He slips the mat into the bag at his feet.

Chop returns with a tray of drinks. After distributing the glasses, he hefts his own pint and says, “What’re we drinkin’ to?”

Izzy lifts her glass of white wine and chirps, “To old friends!”

An echoing chorus replies and everyone takes a drink.

“So, mate, you haven’t really said how you’ve been. How’s life in Hull treatin’ you?” Chop slapped his shoulder.

“Oh, y’know … it’s fine. Nice. There’s a mint record shop there.”

“Well, that’s practically all you need!”

He laughs in response. “Yeah, it’s actually kinda weird. The chick that runs it, at least, I think she’s the manager … Anyway, she’s from ‘round here. Rae Earl? Do you remember her, ‘cause I didn’t.”

Izzy turns in her seat. “Did you say Rae Earl?”

Finn nods, licking the foam off his upper lip.

“Yeah, I remember her! She was in my year, but didn’t start until about nearly Christmas. Always kept to herself, but we both worked on the spring talent show. You had to have some sort of extracurricular, and we ended up making papier-mache palm trees and painting sets.” Izzy bounces in her seat as she remembers more. “Oh, YEAH. We both sang back-up for this girl … Chloe! Lois, you remember Chloe, right? Anyway, Chloe barely made it to practice, so Rae would sing her part, and she was brilliant! But she wouldn’t sing for the show … it was such a shame.” She pauses to take a sip of her drink. “So, she works in Hull now? Weird! Small world, eh?”

Finn brings his pint to his lips and breathes “Only seems to get smaller” before taking a sip.

*

At his dad’s the next day, he and his old man sprawl across the leather sofa, watching Match of the Day. They didn’t talk much, the Nelson men. Vicky, his dad’s girlfriend of about five years, pops her head in to ask, “You boys want anything to drink?”

Finn shakes his head, not looking away from the screen, but his dad asks if she wouldn’t make making a brew, and his interest is piqued. “Actually, Vick, if you wouldn’t mind making two?”

“So, my son. Are you ever gonna get it together with some worthy young woman? Or is my destiny to be the best grandfather in Britain going to be quashed?”

“Dad! It’s not as easy as all that. People say this stuff never changes, but I swear, it’s harder nowadays.”

“I’ve always found that if you really like someone, and they like you … it doesn’t seem hard. It just … happens.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Wisdom from a divorced dad …”

“Oi, watch it, lad. Almost all relationships are good, at least for a while. True, some last longer than others, but me and your mum had some good times. We had YOU. And back in the beginning, it didn’t seem that complicated. Just, one or the other has to speak up, and away you go.”

Finn scoffs at this. “Oh, that’s it? Easy as that? Just … declare yourself?” This seemed risky. Too risky. He’d been the one to approach first in the past and none of those relationships had worked out.

“Well, you’re not signing a contract in blood. You’re asking someone out for a drink, usually. Surely you’re capable of that.” His dad changes the channel to the rugby and Finn sighs.

* * * * *

Another two days later, Rae is at Finn’s for her afternoon check in on Nova. She’s texted him a picture a day for the past three days, though it’s murder on her data plan, and they’ve gone back and forth a little. It seems like it might be flirting, but she’s never sure about stuff like this. He’s due back this evening, so she decides to refrain from sending photographic evidence today.

She’s dealt with the litter tray in the bathroom, topped up Nova’s food, given him two (well, three) treats, and is now sitting on his sofa, which is surprisingly comfortable. She leans back and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. This place still smells like him, even when he’s been gone for over three days. She’s going to miss being able to come over and be amongst his things, hang out with Nova, anytime she wants.

She opens one eye to glance at her watch. 1:37 PM. Archie has the store covered. What would it hurt if she just … kicks her shoes off, tugs on her hair tie to free her locks, and lays down for a minute or ten. It feels a little wrong, until Nova hops up on the sofa, climbs over her leg to settle next to her, kneading at her side for a moment. The sanction of the cat tips the scales and Rae drifts into a sleep.

* * * * *

Finn catches an early train back. As the scenery flashes by, he finds himself opening his phone to scroll through their texts again and again. He can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face, and when he emerges from the station, he decides to swing by the shop, just to say hi to Rae. And Archie. Just a general hello and thanks for helping out.

The bell tinkles as he walks through the door. Archie greets him with a smile, but informs him that Rae is out. “She might still be at your place. She went to check in on the little bugger maybe an hour ago? Hasn’t been back.”

Finn nods, his heart picking up the pace a bit. “Thanks, mate. I’ll … yeah. See ya later.”

It’s just about a block to his flat, but the walk seems to take forever. At his door, he reaches his hand in his pocket and pulls out his key ring. The brass key slides into the lockset and he’s in the building.

Up one flight of stairs and down a bit of hallway, Finn slips the silver key into the deadbolt on his door and turns it slowly, carefully, quietly, afraid to startle her, should she be inside. He gingerly pushes the door open, inch by inch and when he steps through the door, he doesn’t hear anyone. His shoulders droop, but his eyes scan the room, and his stooped posture improves when he sees her on his couch.

He creeps nearer, not wanting to wake her, taking in her hair draped over the arm of the sofa, her mouth open just a fraction, her eyelids fluttering, likely her eyes underneath tracking the action of a dream. And then, by her side, his brat of a cat, curled into the curve of her hip, purring or snoring or possibly both.

Reaching out, he gently moves a strand of Rae’s hair away from her lovely face, then sighs. “Well, now, this is hardly fair, is it?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time coming, and I’m still a smidge worried about it, but it will never be perfect. In fact, several people who read this will probably think “Uh, what was all the fuss about, Shawna?” And that’s cool, that’s cool. 
> 
> A lot of the so-called ‘action’ happens interior to the characters. I find myself writing these man vs. himself plots a lot, getting all up in their brains, and I’m not sure if that’s good, bad or indifferent. But there’s enough here that I don’t hate, so I’m just going to post it and stop the agonizing. The story strayed a little from how I originally thought it might go, but I kind of like where it ended up instead.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you guys enjoy!!!

When Rae awakes, it takes her awhile to come around. She’d been having the most delicious dream, and she vaguely knows she didn’t want to leave it. Finn was there. She lingers in that realm between unconscious and conscious, wandering around the remnants of her dreamscape. They had been somewhere together, outside. It had been cold, and she wasn’t wearing a coat. He tried rubbing her arms, and holding her hands, but she couldn’t get any heat in her fingers or toes, her bones felt cold. And then, he’d swooped her into an embrace and kept her there until she felt warmed through.

She smiles in her half-sleep and hums, stretching her arms away from her, concaving like a cat, and startles the real one still curled up next to her who jumps up to the back of the sofa at her unwelcome movement.

When she fell asleep, it was so quiet she could hear the ping of the pipes and the hum of the mini-fridge in Finn’s kitchen. But now there’s a faint strain of music (was that Jarvis Cocker?) and the sound of a spoon gently clinking against the inside of a mug. She sits up rapidly, finally aware that someone else is there. The movement causes her to tangle in a blanket she doesn’t remember pulling over her, and when her vision still clouded by sleep clears a bit, she sees it’s Finn.

_Shit_ , she thinks.  _Shit shit shit_.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” she says aloud. “I—I didn’t mean to … I should get back to the shop.” Hastily, she lurches to stand; messily, she folds the blanket; awkwardly, she grabs her jacket from the back of the sofa. Nova leaps off the cushions with a heavy thunk and pads towards Finn.

“No, wait!  _I’m_  sorry. I came in, and you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you … I made some tea?” His voice floats up at the end of the sentence, sounding almost hopeful.

Rae stares at him levelly, eyelids still feeling heavy with sleep. “I don’t normally go ‘round taking naps in random people’s flats, y’know.” Rae’s tone is a little defensive as she stands up, holding her jacket in front of her, toeing her Converse against the floorboards. She blinks rapidly to clear the fog of sleep from her eyes. Her face feels puffy, and she cups her hand to her mouth to cover a small yawn, then simultaneously runs her fingers down one cheek, her thumb down the other.

“Didn’t think you did!” he exclaims, just before he frowns thoughtfully. “And I didn’t think I was a ‘random’ person. You know me; I gave you the key to my place, remember?” His frown transforms into a smile, but his eyes are looking at her sheepishly, and Rae grows ever more confused. She shakes her head, brows furrowed, and blinks a few times.

“Here,” Finn sweeps an arm out to pull a chair from his small kitchen table out for her to sit in. “Have a seat; drink some tea. You’ll feel better, and it’ll make me feel better for waking you up.” He slides a mug in front of her, already milky and, she presumes, sugared.

She sits, drapes her jacket across her lap, and hunches toward the table. She picks up the mug gingerly, taking an experimental sip. It’s maybe just a half a teaspoon too much sugar, but it’s warm and rich and she doesn’t mind the extra sweetness just now. A fanciful thought that Finn makes his tea like himself intrudes, but shakes her head to rid herself of the notion.

“Is it … what? Too much sugar? Not enough milk?” Finn stands up to put the kettle back on.

“No it’s fine; it’s great!” Rae insists, waving him to sit back down. “I’m just still waking up a bit. I don’t know the last time I took a nap. Why do people find them refreshing, again? I feel like I just … fell out of time, or something.” She starts in her chair at her own mention of time. “Oh, shit. What time  _is_  it, actually?”

Finn glances at the clock on the wall. “Half-past three, why?”

Rae shakes her head. “Nothing, just was s’posed to sign for a shipment half an hour ago.” She slumps forward again, sighing.

“Well, Archie probably signed for you, right?”

“Yeah, probably.” She takes another sip of tea and is quiet for a long moment before she rubs her eye. “You ever feel like you’re not doing such a great job of living your life?”

Finn looks surprised for a second, but nods right away. “All the time. Pretty much every day. Sometimes I feel like I’m leaking potential like an engine leaks oil.”

Rae nods approvingly at his analogy, then winces into another stretch. “Well, thanks for letting me kip on your sofa like a total creep. Wait, that sounds confusing. Me.  _I’m_  the total creep in this scenario.” She shakes her head, trying to will herself to stop speaking, but can’t prevent more word vomit. “And making me a cup of tea after! You are a scholar and a gentleman, sir.”

She stands up and tips forward into a mock bow. “I will … see you around, I guess. Probably. Very probably! I mean, if you come back to the shop, which … well, you probably will, so …” She’s staggering backward toward the door, wishing her mouth came equipped with an emergency zip for times like this.

Nova sprints after her and waits at the door to be petted goodbye. “Bye, Nova. I won’t say anything about those extra treats, eh? Honor among … well, anyway. You be good, you hear?” The cat tries to butt his furry head up into her hand when she pulls it away to leave. “I’ll see you later, fuzzball.”

She allows herself a final glance up at Finn, who’s looking at her like she’s lost her mind, which she’s not sure isn’t an accurate account of recent events. “Uh, bye,” she murmurs, opening the door behind her.

“I’ll see you soon?” Finn asks, as she pulls the door after her.

“Yeah—uh-huh!” The door closes as she affirms, and she leans heavily against it, closing her eyes, wanting nothing more than to fade away.

* * * * *

Finn stares at the closed door, mouth still open to speak, wondering what he did to run her off.

This. This is what really feels unfair to him. That he’s bumped along in life for years, feeling lost and out of place. And when he finally meets someone who he feels like maybe he can relax around, be himself, she buggers off as soon as possible. He tries hard not to compare that to his past, but it’s difficult not to. He’s gotten so good at letting go that maybe he’s forgotten how to grab ahold of something good.

When he’d opened that door and peeked around the corner to see her sleeping on the sofa, he hadn’t felt angry or uncomfortable. He didn’t think she was a creep. How could she think he thought that? It was more like … he felt he’d come home. This apartment, much like the four previous residences he’s occupied since leaving Stamford, had been shaping up to be just a place to hang his coat and lay his head. A place for his stuff, but not for him. But in that moment, his whole perception of the place changed. What if there were a place that he came back to because he wanted to be there? Not a place he ended up at after all other options had been exhausted? And what if it wasn’t exactly a place at all?

“Shit,” he whispers into the silence of his surroundings.

Then, Nova curls around his ankle, looking up with such hope in his wide eyes, trilling at him.

Finn purses his mouth to suppress a smile. “Oh, no, mister. I heard Rae; you’ve been getting extra treats. You’ll get fed at the regular time.” He punctuates his little speech by bending down to pet Nova’s head affectionately.

He remembers the chat with his dad. Even though he feels like he’s always the one putting himself out there, maybe his old man was right. Asking her out for a drink won’t kill him. He’ll never know unless he asks.

* * * * *

Rae stumbles back to the shop, head down most of the way, wanting the pavement to open up like a sinkhole and devour her off the face of the earth. When she pulls the door to the shop open with exaggerated effort, Archie is wearing an amused grin. “Just where did you get to all afternoon?” he wonders. “Did you and Finn manage to connect?”

Her head flies up at his bizarre sentence construction. “What do you mean by that?” she asks sharply.

Archie holds up his hands to show it was innocently meant. “Just, he came by here a while ago, looking for you. I said you might still be at his flat.” His hands drop back to his sides. “Why, what did you THINK I meant?” a sly tone in his voice.

“No, nothing! What?” Rae runs a hand through her hair, agitated, and when her fingers tangle near the ends, she pulls a hair elastic out of her pocket and scrapes it back into a ponytail. “Did you sign for that shipment at 3:00?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Archie answers, bewildered. “Is everything alright? Did anything happen while you were out? You’re acting … odd.”

Archie knows she hates the word ‘weird’, which she’s grateful for, but she doesn’t know how to respond. Well, she can just tell the truth, which is, “No, nothing happened.” She walks to the nearest CD bin and starts to flip through the discs to check the alphabetization. “Well, I mean, I accidentally fell asleep on his couch, so when he came back, I was … not awake, I guess.”

“How do you accidentally fall asleep, unless you’re a diagnosed narcoleptic? Which, as far as I’m aware …” Archie waves his hand in a circular motion, trying to coax more details out of her.

“I was sitting on the couch, and leaned back, and … y’know … it can happen.” She yanks a Eurythmics case out to put it behind three albums by The English Beat.

“Yeah, I suppose it can,” Archie seems to sense her discomfort, at least she thinks that’s why he backs away from her toward the till. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Still have some of that shipment to unpack.” He rocks forward and back on his heels, like he wants to say something else, but instead walks away with a short shake of his head.

Rae bites the inside corner of her cheek and silently counts to ten before looking up, only to see the door to the break room swing close. She exhales a deep sigh and slumps forward to rest her forearms on the bin. “Shit,” she whispers.

*

That night, as she’s locking up, she puts her hand in the right hand pocket of her jeans and finds the small ring with Finn’s keys. She rakes her teeth across her lower lip and looks at the time.  _It’ll have to be tomorrow_ , she thinks.

* * * * *

At work the next day, Finn’s wiping the grease from a socket wrench on the front his coveralls, humming along to [Domino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOsGA4_Y89c), when suddenly the volume on the stereo drops just as the horns come in. He looks up, startled, and sees Dave turning the knob. “Oi!” he protests, and in answer, Dave points at the door to the waiting area. In the threshold between the office and the garage, Rae sways on the spot looking uncertain.

“Hey!” he says in surprised excitement, then immediately winces at how loud he is. “I mean, hiya. What’s up?” He clears his throat as he places the wrench on top of the tray of tools. Then, he pulls a blue shop towel out of the box to wipe his hands as he makes his way over to her. His heart has gone to double time, and he tries not to show it.

“Oh, nothing much, I just realized that in the fog of sleep yesterday, I forgot to give you these back.” She opens her clenched fist to reveal the small key ring with two keys on it.

“Oh! You … I mean, thanks, but I wasn’t needing them back anytime soon. I mean, it’s probably good for someone to have a set of my spare keys. I’m prone to losing things.” He looks from the keys up to Rae’s wide hazel eyes and then back again. “Unless … you can’t handle the awesome responsibility of hanging onto them?” He smiles up at her, vaguely aware that he’s used this tactic successfully before. He’s not vain, but he knows he’s not repulsive to many members of the opposite sex.

Rae doesn’t blush, but rather seems to go pale at his suggestion. “Oh! Um, sure, I guess I could.” Now she looks down at the keys in her hand and back up at him. “Are you sure, though? There’s no one else you’d rather … ?”

Finn bites his lip. He’s really trying to work her out. Is she asking because she thinks he should have someone to keep his keys? Or because she really doesn’t want to, but is being nice about it? Or, maybe, she doesn’t think she’s the right person to keep them, not because she doesn’t like him, but for some other obscure reason his mind can’t conjure?

“Rae. I’d really like it if you kept ‘em.” He doesn’t qualify the statement, or try to expound on the reasons why it would be a good idea.

She starts her third straight reply with “Oh.” Nothing follows for a moment, but the silence doesn’t feel strained. She finally shrugs and puts the keys back in her bag. “Fair enough, I suppose.” She seems at a loss; like because she didn’t accomplish what she’d come here to do, and it’s thrown her a bit.

“Thanks, again, for watching Nova. I really appreciate it. Can I show my gratitude in the form of a drink? Or two?”

Rae smiles, eyes cast down. “I told you; I don’t need any thanks. I like watching the little bugger.”

“Well, then this’ll be a bonus, then.”

Rae sighs, but through a smile. “Alright, then, sure.”

Finn perks up; he was completely expecting her to say no. “Great! Uh, is tonight alright?”

With a raise of her eyebrows, Rae nods. “Sure, I guess. It’s just … I’ve got to work at the shop until eight, and then close up, so …”

“Eight-thirty? The White Hart?” It was right round the corner from the shop.

Her lips quirk, then smirk to one side, one corner lifting just a half an inch or so. “Yeah, alright. See you later, then!”

She nods at nothing, then turns to go.

Finn grins at her retreating figure, chuckling when she gets tied up in the outer door with a customer coming in. Dave’s voice brings him back to the here and now. “Oi! Earth to Finn! You’ve got to get this done by six.” His boss gives him a stern yet knowing look.

“Hmmm? Sorry.” He returns to the bike he was working on, and is glad he can hide the smile plastered on his face behind half a tonne of steel.

* * * * *

Seven hours later, and Rae is almost through her nightly closing checklist. She only has to deposit the cash in the safe and tidy the break room and she’s done. But she finds herself spinning the combination dial on the safe absent-mindedly, then taking extra care to wipe the counter near the sink and even straightens the stacks of old NMEs on the table by the worn sofa. She’s stalling, and she knows she’s stalling.

Part of her can’t wait to finish up and spend the evening with Finn. But another part of her is worried. She already likes him a lot. Too much. And if his flat is to be believed, she’d only like him more the more she got to know him. But she knows what her life is now. She’s gotten used to its rhythms, and it’s not bad. This … outing … or whatever it was, it felt like a gamble. She could win big, or be wiped out. So, she takes a deep breath, plants her hands on her thighs to stand up, and crosses over to inspect herself in the mirror of the staff toilet.

Her hair still looks decent after a day’s work, surprisingly, but she runs her fingers up and along her scalp, shaking it out to add a little volume. She opens her bag and rummages around, pulling out a both tube of lipgloss and a Chapstick. She looks at them both, presses her lips together in thought, then drops the lipgloss back in her bag in favor of a bit of colorless moisture. She straightens her top, tugging the neckline a little low, then readjusting to conceal her cleavage. Sheepishly, she removes her name tag when she sees it glint off the fluorescent lighting.

She flicks the light off in the loo, then the break room. She wanders out into the dark and empty shop, lit only by the street lamps outside. Taking a deep breath, she starts to walk toward the door, when she stops, surprised by a figure at the window. It’s Finn, cupping his hands around his face to try and see inside. She quickly sneaks a look at her watch. 8:40. Running a bit late, to be sure, but she smiles into the dark at his apparent eagerness.

She taps at the window when she gets to the door, and Finn jumps back, startled, but immediately smiles. Out on the pavement, she pulls the door closed and leans down to turn the second deadbolt near the kick-plate. When she stands up, Finn is still smiling at her.

“Thought we were meeting at the pub?” she asks.

“Well, so did I. Got bored of shredding beer mats waiting for you, so I thought I’d pop over to make sure you remembered.” He sticks his elbow out for Rae to thread hers through. “Shall we?”

She hesitates, but hooks her hand through the crook.

As they amble along, Rae shakes her head. “I definitely remembered. Sorry I was running a little late …”

“That’s alright,” he says, stepping forward to push the door to the pub open, holding it for Rae.

“Ooh!” he says just inside the main room, speeding his gait to stride into the corner and secure a table with perpendicular banquettes. Rae joins him and sits on the other bit of banquette.

“Well spotted,” she says, impressed.

“I like to drink comfortably, what can I say?” He stands. “Guard it well, while I grab us drinks. What’s yours?”

“Ummm, think I’ll have a shandy.”

Finn nods. “Be right back.”

“Do you need any … ?” She starts to shout after him that she has money, but he shakes his head immediately, so she doesn’t bother to finish.

* * * * *

As he waits for their drinks at the bar, the back of his mind turns over the fact that she was late like a worry stone. Was she stalling for time? Was she nervous, too? He couldn’t work her out, and he really wanted to.

When he returns to the table, Rae is fidgeting with one of the beer mats he’d left untorn. It reminds him.

He sets down their pints. “Your shandy, m’dear.” She picks up her glass and holds it aloft, smiling a “Cheers!”

He echoes the sentiment and they both take a long sip of their drinks. “When I was in Stamford, I went out to The Swan with a couple of friends of mine. Chop and Izzy. I think Izzy was in your year at college?” As he’s rambling, he reaches into his bag and pulls out the mat he took from The Swan. “Not sure if you ever drank there, but I was impressed with their new design.” He hands it to her and watches as she turns it over, inspecting it.

When his eyes travel from her hands to her face, he can’t quite read the expression she’s wearing. It’s … quietly curious? Possibly confused.

She traces the curve of the swan with her forefinger. “Yeah, this’s a lot nicer than their old one. But I only ever went there a few times. Wasn’t much for going out, no matter how hard Chloe would try and coax me.” She motions to hand the mat back, but Finn shakes his head for her to keep it. She shrugs, looks as though she’s swallowing a smile, and puts it back down on the table, but uses the Foster’s mat provided by The White Hart for her pint. Taking a thoughtful sip, she says, “Izzy … Izzy … she was the one with all the red hair, right? She were pretty sound, yeah.”

“Chloe?” Finn asks, without thinking.

She looks wistful and focuses on her glass. “Old friend. We … fell out for a bit before college, but I still see her sometimes. She lives in Luton now, with her fiancé.” Then she smiles, and glances up to meet his gaze.

As their eyes meet, Finn feels a rush somewhere between his heart and his brain. It wasn’t caused by anything she said, but just by her. Her … Being. Her being her. Here, with him. This surge, it’s like an urge to move toward her, to get as close as she’ll let him, to … begin. To start something with the intention of finishing it.

* * * * *

Rae looks down after her smile, intently studying the rim of her glass, the smudge where the chapstick from her lip met the lip of the glass, sort of like a kiss. She shakes her head when the word ‘kiss’ bubbles through her brain, and she looks up again, only to see that Finn has moved closer. Not only is he almost flush against the wall on her side of the V-shaped booth, he’s leaning forward, elbows on the table.

She doesn’t ask him why in words, but feels her face take on a quizzical aspect.

He doesn’t lean back, or move away, he just looks at her lips and then in her eyes, and says, “We should do this again.”

She isn’t sure how to respond. They’ve only just sat down, after all. “Do you have to go?” she wonders aloud, thinking this is the most reasonable explanation for his comment.

“What? No! No, I just …” He squirms a bit, retreating just a fraction. “It’s just, this is really nice. I … like talking to you.”

She smiles and looks down at the table. “Thanks. I like talking to you, too.”

She feels like she’s sixteen again, or maybe how sixteen year olds who weren’t so mad that they had to be saved from themselves feel. She’s still crazy, of course, but she doesn’t feel crazy as she looks up and finds Finn already looking at her. Looking at her like he really sees her.

It’s as if all the lights in the pub, save the one hanging over their table, have switched off. The chatter of the other patrons, the clatter of glasses behind the bar, Men Without Hats on the jukebox, all those sounds sounds dull, then fade away. Something like this has happened to her a hundred times or more … in her imagination. But in all those fantasy moments, the face across from her had always been indistinct, bloodless. Those fancies were all about the feeling, and not attached to any human person.

But, this time, it’s like a puzzle piece sliding into place, or a camera racking into focus. And, in this moment, she doesn’t allow herself doubt. At least, not yet.

She is vaguely aware of some movement, and when she blinks a couple of times, the lights round the edges of them brighten a bit. Finn’s pulling his left leg up onto the banquette, in order to twist closer towards her. He’s still looking at her. It’s like he’s watching her and waiting for something.

Suddenly, there’s a flash of bright light that intrudes on their little scene, and Rae instinctively blinks against it. Both she and Finn turn their heads to see what caused it and see a middle-aged woman with an impressively digital camera heft it up in a sort of greeting.

“Hi!” She’s cheery, and dressed as Rae imagined a photographer would. Well-fitting clothes in muted colors, an olive blazer with a gray top underneath, and navy trousers. A rich brown leather camera bag, covered with scratches and imperfections that only made it more interesting is slung over her shoulder. “I’m working on a photo series, would you be okay signing a release? I’ll get your details and send you a copy of the picture, whether or not I use it.”

Rae looks to Finn, and suddenly feels self-conscious, like she normally does, only it feels worse, having traversed the spectrum from relaxed to uncomfortable so quickly. She hopes he’ll answer for them both, because she doesn’t know what she wants. Doesn’t know if she needs to see how she looks when she’s not focusing on trying to control someone’s perception of her.

Finn glances from the woman’s face back to Rae, searching again for something. Then, he shrugs a little, lower lip pouting in that way that tips indifference to ‘why not?’ and says, “What do you reckon, Rae? Should we go for it?”

She feels like everything has so many meanings tonight, but simply musters a quick nod of her head, and they both fill in their details onto scraps of paper with blue-ink biros.

When the woman walks away, she flashes a quick grin over her shoulder that Rae sees but Finn doesn’t.

The strange shivery feeling between her stomach and her spine that seems ever-present when she’s around Finn stills, if only for a moment, and she reaches for her pint.

* * * * *

It’s almost midnight when Finn opens the door to his flat. He’s alone, but the memory of their evening feels like companion enough, and he can’t keep his mouth from grinning stupidly.

Nova stares at him accusingly from the arm of the sofa, an air of ‘and just where have you been?’ directed at his owner.

“I’ve been out with Rae, mate,” he says, by way of explanation, holding his hand out for Nova to do with what he will. The cat sniffs at his fingers tentatively, then ducks and twists to burrow his head up into Finn’s palm, purring all the while. Finn strokes Nova’s head, still smiling. “Yeah, she’s pretty great,” he replies, as if that maneuver had been Nova’s contribution to the conversation.

The thing he realized tonight was that he doesn’t want to wait with her. He doesn’t want to be friends and pal around and then in a couple of months see if they might want to go on an official date, and then take more time to figure things out. He just wants to start already. He wants to rush things and be reckless, but the one thing he doesn’t know is how she feels, so he stopped himself from kissing her when he dropped her at her building, which wasn’t exactly on his way home, but of course he was going to see her to her door.

There was a moment, which Finn replays in his head. Rae says, “Well, good night! Thanks for a lovely evening. We’ll have to do it again soon.” She pauses, looks like she’s holding her breath. He nods, “Absolutely! Anytime.” She exhales, nods, and turns to unlock her door. “And by that,” he explains, “I mean, absolutely anytime.” Her eyes dart over to look at him as she ducks her head to hide a smile. “Okay,” she agrees. “See you soon, then.” He nods emphatically and leans in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll come by the shop tomorrow.”

He isn’t playing it safe, purposely not playing a easy game of tennis where he’s waiting for the ball to be batted back in his court. He’s sending everything he has over the net this time. He thinks his dad will be proud of him.

* * * * *

The next day, Rae’s there first to open the shop, even though she was up until after 2:00, still high on the night she’d had.

She flips the sign at 10:00 and reads the latest NME for the first half hour, uninterrupted by customers. When the bell jingles for the first time that morning, she lifts her head abruptly, then fairly sighs in relief when she sees that it’s just Archie.

“Morning,” she says.

“Morning,” he groans.

“Rough night?” she asks.

“About par for the course,” he shrugs, voice creaking out the words. “You?” he wheezes.

“Me?” she wonders. “I had a …” She isn’t sure how to describe last night. “Last night was …” She stalls for a minute. “It was bloody brilliant, but I couldn’t tell you why.”

Archie gives her a squinty smile. “Good for you, Rae.”

_It_ is _good for me_ , she thinks, and returns to her magazine.

The next two hours are spent jolting every time the bell above the door announces a new customer. Normally, she hears it and drones the automatic greeting of “Hi, welcome to ShipWreckords, let us know if there’s anything we can help you with,” but today her heart dips each time the door opens, hoping it’s Finn, yet dreading it a little at the same time.

At half past twelve, the door opens. Rae looks up and sees a woman who looks vaguely familiar. When she spies the bag, she knows. It’s the photographer from last night. She gave the woman the address for ShipWreckords, figuring she was here more than at home, but certainly didn’t expect to see her so soon. Or at all, really. She imagined the woman would just mail them a print or photocopy or something.

“Hi, welcome—“ she starts.

“Hi, there!” The woman who enters makes a beeline for the counter and hefts her bag next to the till. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Rae’s confused, but smiles. “Thanks?”

“Sorry, I don’t think I gave my name last night. I’m Shaz.” She presents her hand to shake, which Rae does, probably more limply that she normally would. “Anyway, I always try to show the … less sure? … party the picture first.”

“Sorry?” Rae has not one idea what this woman is talking about.

Shaz opens the front flap of her bag and pulls out a manila envelope, which she hands to Rae.

Rae turns it over in her hands, and Shaz nods at her to open it.

When she does, she has to clear her throat to keep her breath from catching there.

It’s a large A4 print, in brilliant black and white. More than she remembers, Finn’s whole body is turned to her, his leg drawn up on to the bench, and he’s looking at her with an intensity one might call searing. She barely looks at herself in the photo, but Shaz tugs gently on a corner of the print to get her attention, and says, “My latest thing is finding pairs of people, you might call them couples, who look like they’re at the beginning of something. Pubs, coffee shops, cafés, those are all great places to find people embarking on this sort of thing.” She looks up at Rae, maybe to gauge her reaction to this, but Rae’s too stunned to give anything but her astonishment away.

“Anyway, if I think the picture shows me something about them, I choose one or the other to show the picture to. It’s usually the person who seems a little … iffy, maybe?”

Rae stares at the picture again, not really seeing it, trying to take all of this in. Then she blinks and really looks at herself. She’s smiling, but not too wide. (When she really smiles, she’s all teeth and gums, which she sort of hates, but only later, after the fact.) It’s clear that she’s holding herself a little stiffly, emanating apprehension. It looks like Finn is trying to catch her eye.

“I realize this is an imposition. I’m inserting myself into a situation and offering an outside perspective that may not be welcomed. But, I just wanted to show you … This guy? He really, really likes you. Look at his face, his body language. I can tell you’re not convinced. You’re holding back, and I get it, but … you don’t need to. Not with this one.”

Rae’s face feels hot all of a sudden. “W-we … we barely know each other. I—his cat wandered in here and … it’s silly.”

Shaz smiles in understanding. “Isn’t everything, though?” She folds the flap of her bag back down and hooks the strap over her head, adjusting across her torso. “Listen. If  _you_  like  _him_ , show it to him, and let me know if you’re both fine with me putting it in my show.”

She starts to the door and has her hand on the doorknob when Rae says, “But we signed a release?”

Shaz looks back over her shoulder and says, “Still. I like to know that you know. That you both know. My card is in the envelope!” And with that, she’s gone, bell tinkling in her wake.

*

Rae slides the envelope into the space under the till, and sets to thinking. Her brain is a jumble of synapses at the best of times, and right now she can’t get them to stop firing on overdrive. If  _she_ likes  _him_? Like, when has it ever been up to her? Shaz must have it wrong. She can’t stop imagining increasingly worrying scenarios:

What if she shows him the picture and he’s embarrassed?

What if she shows him the picture and he thinks she’s not interested and doesn’t stick around to hear that she is?

What if he regrets signing the release and rips up the picture?

Okay, now she’s entering the realm of the ridiculous.

The good thing about the photo is that it takes her mind off the door, and when Finn does arrive, about twenty minutes later, he makes it all the way to the counter before she notices him.

When she looks up, she jumps in surprise.

“Sorry!” he says, genuine worry creased between his eyebrows.

“No, you’re alright,” she reaches out to reassure him with a pat on his arm. He catches her fingers before she pulls her hand away, and gives her a gentle squeeze. Instead of looking up at him, she focuses on his hands. His fingers with the short neat nails, the whorls of his fingerprints outlined in faint grease that he can’t quite get shot of, no matter how much he washes his hands. His hand, still on hers, it’s a sign. And she should take the good signs as seriously as she’s taken the ominous portents all these years. She’s so used to looking for the dark lining of clouds, for other shoes dropping from those dark skies, for black cats crossing in front of her, under ladders and across shards of broken mirrors. She’s been so long looking for those things that she barely noticed the sun come out, or the fluffy buff colored cat that belonged to this human standing in front of her.

“What’s up?” he asks, concern still edging his tone.

“Not too much, just …” She withdraws her hand from his to get the envelope from under the till. “ … just had that photographer from last night in here. She gave me this.” She holds the envelope to her chest, keeping it to herself for just one moment longer. “Told me to show it to you, and make sure you were okay with her putting it in her show.”

Tentatively, she extends the manila enclosed photo, and watches Finn’s face flash from surprise to curiosity to apprehension.

“But … ?” Finn ventures, before looking at the picture.

“I know, I was confused, too. We signed the release, but I guess she wants to make doubly sure.”

* * * * *

Finn slides his finger under the unsealed flap, and gently extracts the black and white photo. He looks at Rae’s face first, and winces at the discomfort he sees there. He’d guessed at it the night before, but it was plain as day here. She looks like she’s holding her breath and about to bolt. He allows a glance at himself, and wants to laugh bitterly at how plain it is that he’s head over heels for this girl. If someone asked him what it was about her, he wouldn’t have been able to say. If someone asked him when it happened, he wouldn’t have been able to fix a moment. Somewhere between that first meeting where Nova had shown her more affection than anyone before, and his trip home to Stamford where he realized that she was the thing he missed most. Maybe it was during one of their too fleeting encounters at the cafe, each headed to their own jobs or homes, depending on the time of day. Maybe it was in this very store, him studying an album cover too hard, so that he wouldn’t give away how much he wanted to study her.

He’s studying her now, this picture of her, and right in front of her. Which feels wrong. A panicky thought that he’s going to have to leave town crosses his mind.

Rae’s saying something he doesn’t catch, all the blood has rushed to his head and is pounding in his ears.

“Hmm?” he wonders wordlessly.

“I just … it’s so strange to see a picture of yourself that you didn’t know was being taken. It really … it really shows you something about yourself.”

Finn nods his head miserably. “Yeah, I suppose it does.” He slides the photo back in the envelope and taps it nervously against the counter.

“Like,” Rae begins. “I didn’t realize how scared I look. I didn’t feel scared. I … don’t exactly know what I felt, but I wasn’t scared.”

“You weren’t?” Finn looks up at Rae, who’s calmly gazing at him.

“I was unsure, sure. I’m almost never sure. I’m amazed by those who are.”

Finn nods. “Me, too.”

“Shaz … she said …” Rae breaks her gaze, glancing down at the counter. “She said you looked … you look like you really like me.” Rae tugged on her long sleeves, the tips of her fingers twitching nervously. “She said I didn’t need to … worry. Or hold back. Not with you. She could tell … from the picture.”

Finn hears the words, but they’re muffled, like he was underwater. Like he’s floating in a shallow pool, and she’s shouting down at him. He knows it’s time for him to speak. It’s his turn, and if he doesn’t, she’s going to start thinking the wrong thing.

“I—“ he starts. “You don’t. I … do.” This barely makes sense, even within the context of this nonsensical conversation, so he tries to clarify, stuttering bewilderedly: “Of course I really like you, who wouldn’t?”

Rae glances up and then back down again in the next moment, shaking her head and swallowing a smile. “Oh, just … almost everyone I’ve ever liked before.”

Finn leans heavily into the counter, the edge pressing into his abdomen. “Rae. I like you. I really like you.” A breath catches in his throat and he telegraphs his question with his eyes and eyebrows, because he can’t find the words to hope.

Finally, Rae replies, leaning against her side of the counter, in a half-whisper, “Well, that’s quite convenient. ‘Cause I really like you, too.”

Finn wonders if she feels the wave of relief that washes over him. From the smile on her face, he thinks maybe she does. His fingers seek hers out across the counter, and when he touches her hand, they both lean in even closer, until a voice behind Finn says, “Rae, I think it’s time for your break, yeah? I’ll watch the shop.”

Archie. Finn could kiss him, but there’s someone he needs to kiss first.

“Yeah, sounds good, thanks.” Rae slides the photo back under the till and slides herself around the counter and out of the shop, alongside Finn, the two of them looking at each other the whole time. They glide along, unaware, and somehow end up at Finn’s apartment. When Finn can’t find his keys, he’s left them at work, Rae digs in her pocket and pulls out her set. They open the outer door, and hurry up to his apartment. Once inside, Rae starts to look down, but Finn swoops up to kiss her. It’s a good kiss; it feels true. One good, true kiss melds into another and soon they are on his navy duvet, embracing and melding into each other.

And then, absurdly, Rae pulls back from him, and asks, “Is this okay?”

“Are you …? YES, it’s okay. It’s … the okay-est.” He brushes a strand of hair aside, and it falls right back into her face. “Why? Is it … not okay for you?”

“No! It’s the okay-est for me, too! I just … haven’t had a lot of practice at this sort of thing. And I just didn’t want you to … pretend it’s okay, you know, if it isn’t.”

“Rae, I know we don’t technically know each other that well. Which … I plan to take care of that. But there’s no evidence that practice makes perfect in these situations. In fact, you could argue that the more ‘practice’ you have, the worse you are at this stuff.”

Rae scoffs. “I don’t know how you worked that out, sounds like a load of bollocks to me. Surely, the more you’ve kissed, the better you are at it.”

Finn smiles. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But everyone’s different. No one kisses exactly the same. Everyone starts at square one each time they kiss a new person.”

Rae licks her lips, one eyebrow halfway up her forehead. “So, what you’re suggesting is, that you only really get good …”

“… when you kiss the same person, the right person, for a long time. Yep, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

“Okay, then,” she says, with an nod for emphasis. “Here’s to practicing for perfection, I guess,” she leans in, and just as their lips are about to meet, a furry head comes between them, purring like mad.

* * * * *

_Six weeks later …_

Finn’s leaning up against the brick wall next to the gallery entrance, waiting for Rae. His eyes are darting up and down the street, looking only for her.

She surprises him, coming around the corner and leans in to kiss him, easy and sure, their daily, almost hourly, practice paying off big time. “Sorry I’m late,” she breathes, his eyes taking a moment to blink open.

“No worries, I just got here a few minutes ago myself.” He holds out his elbow and Rae doesn’t hesitate a single second before threading her arm through it. “Shall we?” he asks, in what he hopes is a gallant voice. She laughs at him, and his heart warms at the sound.

They show their invitation at the door, grab two glasses of wine, and stroll around the exhibition, called  _[These Early Days](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcorE7Bi3II)_ , taking it’s name from the Everything but the Girl song. Each photo has a bit of the lyrics underneath as a caption. When they find their picture, the words underneath read “  _so pay no mind to those who say the world is unkind —_  ”

They look at the picture and read the words, then look at each other and sigh with contentment. The world has been unkind, to both of them in turns, and no doubt would be again. But for the moment, in this moment, it’s a bright, sunny place, filled with loveliness. And they plan to live here for as long as they can.


End file.
